


Painting

by JenCollins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forgiveness, Harry have a hobby, One Shot, Painting, Post War, Therapy, he love painting, it's his therapy, making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenCollins/pseuds/JenCollins
Summary: War have ended, Harry is left empty but soon enough he find something that can make him feel and heal.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Painting

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by discussion i started on fb Harry Potter group about what thing Harry could have start to love/enjoy doing after war have ended.  
> You know who you are, thank you so much for inspiring me!
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry didn't know how it happened but after the war ended, he found himself sitting all alone in the Grimmauld place. 

He was sitting right in front of Walburga Black when a sudden urge hit him. 

He pushed himself up the stairs, grabbing his jacket before rushing outside into the chilly evening. 

Just an hour later he was back, Walburga starting her screeching upon seeing him come in. 

\- Good afternoon to you too. - Harry mumbled before rushing past her. 

He collapsed on the small sofa, setting the canvas up. 

Really, he had no idea how to do what he was picturing, but there was just this urge somewhere deep inside that was just nagging at him to start and to just do it. 

He hadn't felt such a thing in who knows how long, the war had taken that away just like all of his happiness. 

So he jumped on the chance, like jumping into an already running train, just needing to do it no matter the consequences. 

That's how he ended up spending most of the night trying to grasp the feeling, this urge. 

When the first rays of sun appeared, he finally let his hands drop down in his lap, feeling extremely tired once again. 

But he looked up at the work he had done. 

Sirius’ haunting face stared back at him. 

All sharp lines and shadows, his eyes full of lost memories and pain deeper than the deepest depths of the ocean, but his lips drawn back in his signature smirk-like motion. 

It looked so real, as if Sirius was really there, deep in the canvas, waiting for Harry to reach out, ready to laugh about his silliness. 

Harry broke down without even realizing it, choking on his sobs and wanting to grip this painting version of Sirius close to his chest, to let it all out. 

And then came the well-known anger, making him grip the painting hard and stroll out of the sitting room. 

He stopped by Walburga's painting, shoving Sirius’ one close to her face. 

\- Look at him! Look what you have done! This is your son! Sirius Orion Black! Who was killed for the greater good! Who was tortured most of his life but still gave off love bigger than any heart possible! Look at him! - Harry was screaming himself hoarse. 

Walburga stayed silent the whole time, listening to Harry, letting him scream it all out, till all he could do was lean back against the wall, his throat sore and eyes aching from tears. 

\- He deserved it. - She spoke in a calm voice that screamed pureblood through and through. 

\- For fucks sake! Why?! Why couldn't you love him?! Why!? - Harry choked on another sob. - He tried his best, he just wanted to be himself, to be loved and understood. Why couldn't you accept him? -

Harry breathed out the last words, sagging to the floor. 

Walburga stared at him, letting him catch his breath and his sobs to die. 

\- Go to bed, you need to rest. You have worn yourself out far too much. Go get some sleep. - her tone was calm, almost gentle, surprising Harry. 

But he really was way too tired to hold his eyes open, so he dragged himself to bed, passing out almost right away. 

That's how it all started, he would spend nights painting. Painting memories and people he loved, people who lost their lives in the war. Painting every emotion bubbling inside him. 

Sometimes he painted calm things, like the forest of Dean in early mornings when the sun had just started to rise. 

But sometimes he painted war with all its pains and loses. 

He goes through all possible colors, some so bright that they’re blinding, some so dark that he can barely make out the lines. 

But mostly he painted those who he kept the closest : Sirius, Remus, His parents, Dumbledore, Dobby. 

Sirius came in his works the most, trying to capture every look, every emotional glance. He painted him young as a boy, as a happy teenager just out of school, he painted him down on his knees on that fateful night, when their lives collided. He painted his pain in Azkaban, the returning spark when he got out. He painted his laugh, his happiness and his sparkling joy. Till he painted him falling through the veil. 

He hung every painting of Sirius up on the wall, right in front of Walburga. 

And she didn't really mind, giving Harry offhanded comments about Sirius’ looks, but never screaming again. 

The hardest part was to paint his parents, he tried his best, but he just couldn't get them to be any older than twenty one. 

He ended up crying and destroying half of the sitting room till he finally calmed down and just poured it all out over a fresh canvas. 

With Remus it got a bit confusing, there were two halves of how he painted him, the shining person and the cloudy one with his own trauma. He even painted him as a werewolf, catching the hurt of transforming. But mostly he painted him how he remembered him the best, as a fighter, as a teacher and father figure. 

One night when he hadn't slept for three days already, he sat down feeling aches all over his body, barely being able to lift his hands, he painted them all together, simple but happy, all worries shoved to the side. James holding Lily close, Sirius throwing his head back in laughter, while playful pushing at Remus, who was falling against Lily. So simple but so alive. 

He looked at the paintings for a long time, his eyes too dry to even blink. 

And then he put up another blank canvas and painted another picture of them, only this time he added Peter there, sandwiched in the middle, a flush over his cheeks, laughing together with the rest. 

He let the brush hit the ground as exhaustion took over him fully, finally lulling him to sleep. 

It's been a couple of years since that first painting, years in which he had spent every day or night making new ones. 

Now he stands in front of Walburga, trying to get his tie to stay in place, but somehow no matter how much he tries, it still stays plastered to his chest backwards. 

\- Stop worrying so much. - Walburga hisses in a strict tone. 

\- Easy for you to say. - Harry shakes his head, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes before looking back up at Walburga. - So? -

He spreads his arms, turning around once. Walburga looks over him with counting look before nodding. 

\- As good as my son. - she says simply, a note of warmth in her tone. 

\- Thank you. - Harry gives her one of his private smiles, the rare one, he mostly doesn't smile at all. 

\- Go and make me proud. - She huffs out, earning a soft laugh from Harry. 

He's nervous even though he knows that he has no need to be. 

He's standing there, in the muggle London art gallery full of his works, people going around and around admiring his pieces. 

It gives such warm feeling somewhere in his chest that these people, these strangers, can see part of his hidden world, part of something of such high importance without judging it by just hearing his name because to them, he's just a man who loves painting, just a man. 

After that evening he finally gave in to making a similar event down at Hogwarts. 

He didn't even want to listen, but Walburga sat him down with her strict tone. 

\- Do it for them. -

That's all it took for him to be standing in the great Hall of Hogwarts, feeling like he might pass out, while so many of the wizarding world were going from painting to painting, laughing and crying, letting out their own bubbling emotions. 

Harry stayed behind, he felt much better being alone in his home, only talking being made with Walburga and Kreacher. 

But he understood that all those people needed to see his works, to be able to accept what had happened and move on. 

So he let the day turn into evening and evening turn into night before he packed everything up and was ready to go, but before he could do that, he was stopped by McGonagall. 

\- I thought that I would never see them again, but strangely enough, you look like a mix of them all. Thank you, Harry. -

He was confused at that, but only later at night, when he was already home, he finally looked in the mirror and saw what she meant. 

Lily's eyes were staring at him, James’ face mixed in, complete with scars just like Remus, and finally Sirius, his hair long and wavy, bones sharply pressing against skin, paint scattered over his skin. 

And all he could do was just sit down and paint once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I hope that you did enjoy this at least a bit.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
